


At the End of the Tunnel, There's a Glimmer of Light

by SegaBarrett



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/pseuds/SegaBarrett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse has a few stops to make before he gets where he's going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of the Tunnel, There's a Glimmer of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Breaking Bad, and I make no money from this.
> 
> A/N: Written for a prompt on the BB kink meme (http://brbakinkmeme.livejournal.com/521.html?thread=216841#t216841).
> 
> Title comes from "A Pharaoh Story" in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. 
> 
> Warning: Physical abuse/bullying of a child by other children.

When the car pulled up in front of the little red house, Brock was sitting outside on the swing, looking down at the dirt and trying to rub the tears out of his eyes before he went back in.

The other boys in the foster home were older, eleven and twelve, and they both smoked already and snuck out of the house and got most of their pleasure in life from pushing around the smaller, quieter Brock.

Today, he’d made the mistake of starting to sob when one of them had shoved him into the ledge and it had hurt him in his stomach.

“Crybaby! Gonna cry all the time, huh Brock?” They’d both called after him as he rushed out the door. “Crybaby! Come back here so we can watch you cry some more!”

The swing was safe, so far at least. They’d stayed inside doing… doing something, Brock wasn’t sure what. Probably something bad, or maybe they’d turned their fists to each other as they tended to do when Brock wasn’t immediately available for punching bag purposes.

His foster parents were okay, and they tried, but any control they had over the house had long since faded into nothing. Besides the two boys, there was a sixteen year old girl who was pregnant and a fifteen year old girl who would jump out the window every night and come back when she felt like it.

They were both nice to Brock. They would tell the boys to leave him alone. But they weren’t around today, hanging out with boyfriends or meeting with their social workers.  
Brock’s hadn’t been by for a while. She was a nice lady, but seemed pretty distracted most of the time. Sometimes she forgot his name, but she seemed sweet. Gentle, like she did care.  
He heard the motor of the car first, and craned his head to see what was going on. It was a big blue car, dark blue, with a weird circular shape to the front bumper.

The door opened, and Brock thought he might have been dreaming.

Jesse stepped out, but he looked different; he had more hair now, like when he had first met Brock. There were bruises all over his face, and cuts, and over the parts of his arms that weren’t hidden by his short-sleeved T-shirt. But he was Jesse.

“Jesse!” Brock exclaimed, running towards him in a huge hug. “Jesse,” he repeated. He wanted to start crying but he was seized by a fear that Jesse would think he was a crybaby too and not want to see him.

“Hey, Brock,” Jesse said softly. “What’s going on? What’s it like here? Are… are you happy here?”

Brock shook his head and slowly lifted up his shirt to show him the gash, the bruises. 

“Your foster parents did this to you?” Jesse’s eyes flared in rage, and Brock shook his head.

“The boys.” He was afraid to say their names, like it would make them come out, like it would make this all be a dream for nothing.

“Listen, Brock… Would you like to come live with me?” 

Brock didn’t even have to think about it. He nodded his head eagerly, desperately. He wanted to live with Jesse, even if he didn’t know where that was anymore.

“Okay,” Jesse said, then whispered, “Do you know your social worker’s name?”

“Laura,” Brock supplied. “Laura Dennis.”

“Okay. Now just follow my lead,” Jesse instructed, taking Brock’s hand in his. He led him into the house, and Brock kept darting his eyes around, terrified something would ruin this, would take Jesse away. Maybe Jesse would decide he didn’t want to bring him with him after all. Or his foster parents would say no. 

Brock’s foster mother, a woman with curly red hair, stepped into the living room as soon as Jesse entered.

“Who are you? Did Brock try and run away?” she inquired with a sigh. “I told you, Brock, they’re just playing, it’s not…”

“I’ve spoken with Laura, Brock’s social worker,” Jesse cut in curtly. “I’ve filled out all the paperwork, and I’m adopting Brock. I’m taking him with me.”

“Well, listen, let me just call and check with her…” The woman took out her cell phone and dialed. A half an hour of being on hold later, she hung up and looked at Jesse. “Guess I have to take your word for it. What’s your name?”

“Jesse,” Jesse replied, “Jesse…” He paused, “Ehrmantraut.” 

“Well, that’s an easy one to remember,” the woman agreed. “You need Brock’s stuff? I’ll go get his bag.”

“Okay.”

Within a few moments, she had returned with Brock’s backpack, and helped him put it on his back.

“Goodbye, Brock,” the woman told him as she gently patted his back. “Stay safe.”

Brock nodded at her and took Jesse’s hand again, letting himself be led back into the car.

***

“Where are we going, Jesse?” Brock inquired, looking out the window. His backpack was in the trunk. 

“Well, you look like you’re dead on your feet,” Jesse told him, “So first we need to stop somewhere to stay for the night. Somewhere close. Then we’re going to figure out where to go next.” Jesse started the car and drove down the road for a while until he pulled up on the big red house with gray shingles, a place Jesse felt as if he hadn’t been in a lifetime. “Come with me,” Jesse told Brock gently, taking his hand again as he walked up and rang the doorbell.

The door opened, and Jesse found himself looking at his mother. He had never thought that he would see her again, and that realization almost made him burst into tears at that very moment. But he was here for a reason.

“Hey… Mom, could I… come in?”

“They’re looking for you,” she told him, and he nodded.

“I know. Listen… It’s not for me. Brock and I…” He squeezed Brock’s hand protectively. “Just need a place to stay for the night. Then we’ll get out of your hair, I promise.”  
Mrs. Pinkman looked over at Brock and sighed. 

“Okay. Quick. Get in.”

Jesse and Brock shuffled into the house, and Jesse found himself staring around at the living room as if it was a figment of his imagination, something that he had only dreamed about. It seemed so far away that he wanted to reach out and touch it, but he stopped himself.

“Could Brock take my room? I could take the couch or… or anywhere. Is Dad home? And Jake?” 

“They’re both here. Jakey’s upstairs,” Mrs. Pinkman replied, shaking her head. “Jesse… who is this child to you?”

Jesse swallowed hard.

“Can I tell you after we get him set up, upstairs? I just…”

“…All right,” Mrs. Pinkman agreed reluctantly, extending her hand. “It’s okay, Brock. Let’s go upstairs.”

Jesse followed them, still in a sort of daze. When they arrived in his room, he opened the closet and reached up to the top shelf, pulling down a soft little teddy bear.

“Brock,” he told the boy softly, “This is one of my old teddy bears. I noticed you didn’t have any with you, so… I thought you might like it.” Brock smiled at him and cuddled up to the bear, silently, in Jesse’s old bed. Jesse pulled the covers up, tucked him in, and gave him a soft kiss on the forehead. “Sleep well, Brock. Tomorrow we’ll figure out where we’re going, okay?”

Brock gave a tired nod. Within minutes he was fast asleep.

Jesse and his mother slowly left the room, shutting the door, before walking downstairs.

“Janet? What’s going on?” Mr. Pinkman inquired from Jesse’s parents’ room. 

“Jesse is here,” Mrs. Pinkman replied tiredly, “And he brought this little boy…”

There was an exasperated sigh from her husband as he appeared in the doorway, then out in the hall, staring at Jesse.

“I thought you were dead,” he admitted, “Those two DEA agents they said you were with… They’re dead.” There was a subtle accusation in the words. Jesse shook his head and twitched, remembering it. 

“Bad people came to get them,” Jesse recited, not able to meet his parents’ eyes. “Killed those two men… Schrader and Gomez… They were good men. They kept me prisoner. I tried to make it out and…” He started down the staircase and was on the bottom step before he finished. “To punish me for escaping they shot my ex-girlfriend in front of me. Her name was Andrea. Brock is her son. That is who he is to me. He’s my responsibility.”

“Jesse,” Mrs. Pinkman started, “Why don’t you leave Brock with us? Turn yourself in or… just leave and start somewhere else. We’ll make sure he’s safe.”

Jesse shook his head and rubbed at his face.

“I tried to turn myself in. That’s why I was with those DEA agents. But… now that there’s Brock… I’m all he has. I’m going to take him somewhere and start over again. Raise him, raise him right. I know I’ve had… disagreements with both of you but I do trust you with Brock but it’s just… this is something I need to do. Andrea would want me to do it, not to dump him on my parents. And Brock doesn’t know you. He knows me. He trusts me.”

“That sounds… very responsible of you,” Mr. Pinkman said, his voice sounding surprised. “Do you have any money? How are you going to get a house, a job?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse admitted. “I need to figure something out.”

Mr. Pinkman crossed to the dining room, and when he returned he was holding his wallet. He opened it and took out a stack of twenties, fifties, and a few hundreds.

“This is a thousand to start you off, Jesse. After that you’re on your own.” He held the money just a little out of Jesse’s reach. “And this is for that little boy. This is not for you.”  
Jesse nodded.

“I… Thank you. Thank you so much. I’ll pay you back, I…”

“Don’t. Just do the right thing, Jesse.”

Jesse’s throat was dry as he took the money and put it in his pocket. 

“Hey… Um… Mom, do you still have that old jewelry kit?”

Mrs. Pinkman looked at him.

“Yes. Jesse, but why?”

“I’ll show you.”

She led him over to the kit in question, which was sitting in the living room. He sifted through it until he found what he was looking for – a little silver heart on a chain.

“Is Jake up? Could I borrow his computer and printer?”

By this point, of course, he was, having stirred awake and emerged in the hallway, looking down at the impromptu family reunion.

He let Jesse into his room and watched as Jesse, rubbing his eyes again, typed in “Andrea Cantillo” and pulled up her obituary, pulled up the accompanying photo of her smiling with her soft black hair curled around her shoulders.

He fiddled with the sizing, hit print, and set to work.

***

When Brock awoke in the morning, Jesse slipped the locket around his neck.

“I don’t know if I’ll always have the answers for the right thing to do, Brock,” he said softly, “But she will. Keep her close to your heart, okay?”

Brock nodded.

“Do we know where we’re going?” he asked.

“I think I have an idea,” Jesse replied. He reached out and hugged both his parents close, and Jake too. “Thank you so much.”

“Will we see you again, Jesse?” Jake inquired, “I mean… I guess this is my nephew… right?”

“I don’t know,” Jesse admitted. “But I’ll try to keep in touch. And that’s right. You’ll be his Uncle Jake.” Jesse shivered a little bit at what that name reminded him of. “Or just Jake. Just Jake works too.”

“Just take care of that child, Jesse,” Mrs. Pinkman reiterated. “Make sure he’s okay.”

“I’ll love him, always,” Jesse promised quietly. “He’ll always be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

***

“I’ll be completely honest. Nothing much goes on around here. Other than the occasional Sarah Palin sighting.”

“Yeah.” Jesse reached up and adjusted his tie. “My next door neighbor said she thought she saw her and T-T…” His tongue clicked of its own volition and he couldn’t finish the name. “Her husband at the grocery store. She only got a glimpse, though, I mean. Yeah.” 

The woman interviewing him laughed.

“I guess it’s like Elvis sightings, though more probable!” she agreed. “Anyway, listen. So… I know you applied for a position in janitorial work but… well, you know the place is a Christian day care, right? Well, our Bible Studies teacher was in an awful car accident and won’t be back for six months. We’re… a little desperate. Do you think you could fill in?”

Jesse stared at her.

“I’ve… well, my aunt listened to a lot of Jesus Christ Superstar and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” he offered lamely.

“….Well, it’s a start. Let’s see what happens.” She extended her hand, and he shook it, trying for his own hand not to shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Jesse. Welcome to Juneau.” 

***

Jesse sucked in his lip and threaded his hands together as he looked around the room, taking in the curious gazes of the three and four year olds who filled the room.  
He thought of Brock, curled up snug and tight in a coat to protect against the harsh cold, the way he’d run and jumped and played from the moment they’d gotten here. The trusting brown eyes that followed him wherever he might lead. He thought of the nights where he’d stayed up with Brock, holding him tight as he sobbed, missing Andrea, clutching the chain desperately and staring at the picture it held. 

He had no idea what the hell he was doing.

But he would wing it.

“The story of Joseph and the coat of many colors…” Jesse began. He’d done his research. As far as the story went, the man had been sold as a slave and thrown into jail. But he’d gotten out.

He’d made it.

“Who here has an older brother?” Jesse prompted. A few hands went up. “They can be kind of a pain, right? Anyone here have eleven brothers?”

One girl curled up her nose.

“That’s got to be the worst thing ever.”

Jesse smiled and laughed.

Things were going to be okay. He knew it.


End file.
